


Optimus and Megatron in Kinky Anniversary Shenanigans

by ultharkitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: Optimus and Megatron enjoy an anniversary vacation in Euphoria. Contains: explicit sticky and non-sticky, public sex, exhibitionism, fluff. This is 100% feel-good adorableness. Massive thanks to White Aster for commissioning this! It's been really interesting to think through how things would have gone for Optimus and Megatron in the Eurphoria-verse, and how they might have stopped the war before it started, got hitched and now rule together in wonderful harmony.And many thanks to 12drakon for invaluable comments, and for helping me with the title!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [White Aster (white_aster)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/gifts).



"Oh no you don't," Megatron purred, reaching above Optimus' head to snatch the data pad out of his hand.

"I was only going to read," Optimus protested, but as he was sandwiched between the Lord Protector and their palatial recharge station, there was nothing to prevent Megatron from scanning the pages he had surreptitiously tried to load.

"Iacon Central Newsfeed?" Megatron queried, his lips pursing. "Praxus Politico, the Rhodion Roundup with key address from the Senate Speaker? Optimus!"

"Megatron?"

"I'm shocked." Megatron pocketed the data pad, and shifted his weight a little further up Optimus' frame. "I thought we had an agreement."

"We do."

"And yet," Megatron commented. He gunned his engine, making the vibrations pass through his partner’s back. “No politics. No newsfeeds, no updates from the outside world, no shop talk. In short, no work for one blessed orn. Those were your exact words, I recorded them if you would like to hear."

Optimus rolled his face to the covers. "I remember."

"And what do I catch you doing, my Prime?" Megatron vented over the back of Optimus' neck, extending his energy field to catch the little spot where his armour was thinnest and the sensors most vulnerable. "I catch you breaking the rules."

Optimus tried to hold in his laughter, but the kicking of his feet showed that Megatron had the right place.

"What happens to conjunx who break the rules?" Megatron queried, flicking his glossa over the sensor-laden weak spot.

"That’s unfair, it tickles!"

Megatron pressed closer, making his voice vibrate through Optimus' armour. "What... happens?"

"They pay a forfeit!" Optimus sputtered. 

“Mmm, that’s right. And who gets to decide the forfeit?”

“The conjunx who didn’t break the rules!” Optimus bucked, but there was no real force behind it. 

Megatron made a play of clinging on, thighs tight to Optimus’ hips. He ran his hands over his partner’s broad shoulders. “I’m glad we understand one another.” His hands travelled lower, taking in the Prime’s powerful back, his narrow waist - and lingering there. Optimus arched, a low moan thrumming through his chest. “I wonder,” Megatron edged back until he was sitting across Optimus’ hips, holding him pinned. 

Optimus pressed up against him. “Wonder what?” he asked, a note of coy suspicion in his voice while his energy field gave a targeted flare that made Megatron gasp. “I’m sorry,” Optimus continued levelly, “is there a problem? I thought you were preparing a forfeit.”

“I can hear the smile in your voice, my Prime,” Megatron said. “I have a forfeit for you…” He couldn’t miss the way Optimus shivered, nor the flutter of the flanges at the backs of his shoulders. He grinned. “I should like the two of us to go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Optimus stretched, his arms reaching to the pillowed head of the bed, his shapely waist flexing. “That hardly seems a suitable forfeit. I mean, I did break the rules…”

“Oh, I don’t mean to go that easy on you,” Megatron said. He knelt up, patting Optimus’ aft on the way, and rolled over to his side of the recharge station. He sent a wireless command, and a drone buzzed to life, picking up a case from the top of his luggage and flying over to the bed. 

Optimus made a curious sound, but didn’t get up. He folded his hands under his head, his expression as calm as it ever was, but his energy field was blazing. 

Megatron received the case from the drone’s tiny hands, and flared his own field over the lock. The case blossomed, its drawers and compartments unfurling to reveal an array of the very best false spikes available in the whole of Euphoria. 

He pursed his lips, watching Optimus from the corner of his eye, and made a play of selecting a spike. Each was modded for a different purpose - one to massage the ceiling node, one to fit around the edge of the rim, stretching up to caress the nub, one huge and wide and ridged for those especially energetic moments. He chose a transformable model, and tugged it free from its cradle of scented alien woods.

The drone flew over and took the case away. Optimus stretched again, arching his back and bringing his knees up under himself to raise his aft. When Megatron knelt between his legs, Optimus’ cover was already drawn back. His valve glistened, a little silvered from their earlier play. Megatron bent to lick from the nub all the way around the rim, and Optimus sighed. 

“I take it,” he said, breaking off to shiver as Megatron slid the head of the spike where his tongue had so recently been. He coughed. “I take it this has a remote control?”

“It accepts commands,” Megatron confirmed. 

“And it has… multiple functions?”

“I believe so. Perhaps a test…” He made the end vibrate, and passed it over Optimus’ nub. Slick with the Prime’s intimate fluids, the passage was quite gentle, but still it made his vents come faster. 

“Mmmm… Is there anything else it can do?”

Megatron brought the buzzing tip over the Prime’s eager opening. “Would you like me to ruin the surprise?”

Optimus appeared to give this some thought, rocking back on his knees as far as Megatron’s position would let him, bringing the spike deeper with each urgent little motion. “I… I like surprises,” he said. “I like _your_ surprises. I’ll wait and find out.”

“Good, my Prime,” Megatron said, pushing the false cord deep into Optimus’ valve. Watching him shudder was almost as delightful as listening to him moan. 

“My Protector,” Optimus groaned, waiting as still as he could while Megatron activated the tiny locks and magnetised the spike in place. 

“I think you’re ready,” Megatron said. “Let’s walk.”

* * *

It was a busy shopping day in central Iacon. Scores of fliers zoomed overhead, dozens of bots wandered the sidewalk, and the road was filled with groundframes eager to wend their way through the traffic. Shops pinged them with adverts and special offers, and billboards showed the latest movie trailers and endorsements for off-world vacations. It all felt so real. But the stars that glistened in perpetual night were simulated, and the neon streetlight illuminated crowds that didn’t give them a second glance, that didn’t even seem to recognise them. 

It was paradise. 

Megatron sent a note of thanks to Euphoria for creating all of this. For creating it for them. Their city, their capital, their home from home; it was a perfect facsimile, with the one beautiful bonus, the reason they had requested Euphoria to create it in the first place: they could be left alone. 

Everyone knew their Prime, everyone knew their Protector. From their rocky start, they’d built a bond that had united their peoples, had brought Cybertron back from the brink of civil war. It has been a hard, winding road, but they had fostered love where there could so easily have been hatred, understanding where the differences threatened to drive their people apart. 

The world they had helped create wasn’t perfect, but it was a work in progress they could both be proud of. Full social parity was still a dream, a real post-scarcity society the goal, but they would get there. 

With their work had come popularity and notoriety, adoring crowds and argumentative critics. In their Iacon they could never be alone. But in this place, in this Iacon-in-Euphoria, no-one cared who they were. 

Peopled with Euphoria’s drones, scattered with her symbionts, the extension to Zone Twelve provided the perfect getaway. And the only place where Megatron could possibly watch Optimus walk carefully along the street with his valve stuffed full, a tiny trail of lubricant making its way down the inside of his thigh. 

“Comfortable?” Megatron asked, linking arms with his conjunx. 

“Eminently,” Optimus responded, giving his arm a little squeeze. His vents slowed and that enticingly subversive smile crept onto his face - the smile that had been the first of his many virtues to gain Megatron’s attention all those vorns ago. “I do, however, feel a certain degree of confinement in another area.”

They paused to look in a shop window, no bystanders stopping to gawk, no eager assistants rushing out to offer free samples. Megatron turned up the vibrations, and Optimus’ optics brightened. “Would you care to be more specific?” he teased. 

Optimus coughed. “My cord,” he said. “Is it within the scope of my forfeit...” He grunted, mid-section tensing as Megatron made the false cord expand. “Oh my.” He leaned a hand on the window, vents coming faster now, and faster still as Megatron closed in from behind, reaching around his hips to rub his heated spike cover. 

“I want to see it,” he growled. “I want to feel it.”

Optimus leaned more heavily on the window frame, head down and his enticing little antennae twitching. He moaned as Megatron pressed against him, his cord extending hot and hard into Megatron’s grip. For a long, shuddering moment Optimus let his his optics go dim, then rebooted them and offered the feed up to Megatron, showing his own delightful view of his partner’s dark hand wrapped around his gleaming slick shaft. Megatron held him a while, caressing the tip and watching Optimus’ view of the red and blue biolights shimmering, the little quake of the shaft as his vents caught and his engine rumbled. 

There were people in the shop, the window giving them a perfect view if any of them cared to look. Megatron made the false spike expand just a little, spark swelling at the way it made his conjunx’ optics brighten. 

“Do you like that?” he queried, knowing full well the answer. 

Optimus circled his hips, increasing the friction against Megatron’s hand. “You should be careful,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Someone might see.”

Megatron laughed and tugged his partner around. Optimus instantly met his lips, arms around his neck and his cord a warm urgency slipping between Megatron’s thighs. Megatron drew the flanges of his pelvic armour back, and bared his valve. The frot of his partner’s spike spread a fresh warmth through his frame, adding to the heat already generated by his glowing spark and the perfect mesh of their energy fields. 

Optimus was running hot, a little steam rising from his vents. He rolled his hips, and Megatron made adjustments to the transformation of his most intimate plating, giving Optimus space to move, making the angle just right for his cord to caress from Megatron’s nub across the welcoming warmth of his opening. 

At Optimus’ urging, Megatron pushed his partner to the wall, sparing a moment to take in the beauty of his needy expression, the defiant curve of his smile, before closing in again. He accepted a new strand to the data stream, a slew of fragments of their early life together: thrilling touches as they passed in crowded halls, stolen kisses before official talks, hurried interface in paused elevators or the offices of knowing, hopeful colleagues. Little snatches from the night they bonded, spark-met and energetic as they tested fully the sound-proofing capacity of the official state recharge chamber. 

They had been young, then, and optimistic. In love with each other, and with the world of possibilities that came into being with the joining of their hands. They had bonded live on a thousand media streams, and the celebrations had lasted for days. 

Some said it could never last. The finest product of a militarised caste system still clinging to legitimacy long after the end of Quintesson rule could never forge a future with the fresh face of the new political scene; what common ground could they find? But they had - in poetry and philosophy, in art and science and interface, in political theory; their ideas combined were far stronger than they ever had been alone. 

“Is that shop talk?” Optimus whispered. “I can see what you’re thinking.”

“You started it,” Megatron objected as the Prime increased his squirming. “Mmmm, is that my forfeit?” 

“What?” Optimus asked, optics twinkling as he ground their hips together, his cord only just brushing against Megatron’s bared equipment. “This?”

Megatron grabbed a hold of his aft and tugged him as close as he would go. “That,” he confirmed. “To be so near and yet so far. You’re tantalising, my Prime.”

“I could say the same for you,” Optimus said softly, his voice burred. “Do you remember what you said to me the day after our bonding?”

Megatron shrugged, pausing to taste his conjunx’s lips. “Did I tell you I wanted you wrapped around me?”

Optimus smiled. “Several times.”

“Did I tell you the light from your spark glowed more brightly than the radiance of Vector Sigma?”

“I… I do believe you did.”

“And did I promise to stand beside you by day, and kneel before you at night for as long as you shall want me?” Megatron asked, switching on the false cord’s vibration sequence. 

Optics flickering, Optimus laughed and melted against him. “I do seem to recall some kneeling,” he said with an upwards slide of his subtly vibrating spike. “But the scenario I was thinking of...” He sent a moment from his databanks: a cool breeze and the sound of traffic, a fervent flock of journalists and a memory of Megatron leaning close to whisper a suggestion. 

“I wish we could disappear,” the memory-Megatron said softly, the glow of his optics bringing a blush to the silver of Optimus’ face. “Just for one day.” 

“And we have,” Megatron said, glancing around at the bustling shoppers, the busy street. He kissed his partner’s smooth cheek. “How do you like being invisible?”

Optimus ran his fingers over the photosensitive flanges usually concealed by Megatron’s helm. “It’s wonderful,” he said, and gasped as Megatron made a slight adjustment and his cord slid smoothly home. 

Megatron curled around him, one foot on the low sill of shop window, lowering himself onto the spike and off again, his valve pulsing with each prolonged movement. 

“Tease,” Optimus challenged, settling his hands on Megatron’s waist. Megatron grinned, and Optimus spun them around, slamming his partner to the wall, his cord buried deep. The window shook, but did not crack, and Megatron laughed as Optimus lifted him, a show of strength that shuddered delightfully through his frame. 

Megatron made the false cord expand, and groaned as Optimus’ own cord began to pulse. He gripped his conjunx tight between his thighs, watching the slide of his thick, well crafted cord through Optimus’ dimmed optics. He increased the vibrations, drawing a rumble from Optimus’ engine, making his whole frame shiver. His cord echoed the vibrations, and Optimus plunged it deep and held still, the tip curving up, a teasing, shimmering fullness. The constant vibrations coupled with the soft buzz of Optimus’ energy field to lap at Megatron’s internal nodes. 

The ease with which Optimus held him was a constant source of visceral wonder. The strength of him, the power held in check, the supreme control; and the kindness at the heart of it, the will to give, the dedication to fulfilment. It was dizzying. And satisfying and thrilling, and perpetually enticing. 

“I love to see myself through your eyes,” Optimus murmured. 

“Likewise,” Megatron whispered, and drew him into a kiss that deepened with the slow inexorable rise in charge. 

Caressing his conjunx’s shoulders, Megatron reached one hand up to rub the edge of the curving audial, and the spike of the antenna. Receptors crackled, thickly clustered, their overcharge tingling through his hand. Venting sharply, Optimus began again to move, a subtle rolling of his hips that deepened with each slow, indulgent thrust. 

Shoppers passed close enough to touch, and Megatron switched the false cord to maximum, drawing a low urgent growl from his conjunx. The pace quickened, and he smirked, optics locked with Optimus’, their helms touching and sparks surging and reaching towards one another. The tug was as delicious as the fullness of his valve and the thrill of the vibrations echoing through them both. It lasted as long as they could draw it out, and Megatron could have drowned in his Prime’s smile, could have lived forever in the unfurling of their coronas and the meshing of their energy fields. Overload came as togetherness and satisfaction, as a hot rush of needs fulfilled. They stayed together, watching, feeling, settling in the stillness. Enjoying the moment as they so rarely could. Then Optimus kissed him and he laughed, and the spell of stillness was over, but the magic of their Iacon remained. 

They disentangled slowly. So wonderful to have the time to enjoy decoupling; everything was so pressing in the outside world. But here, in their home-from-home, Optimus could flash that wicked smile that always prompted a pleasant little shock, and press his conjunx to the wall to work teasingly down his frame. Megatron laughed, helpless, at the flick of Optimus’ tongue over his anterior node, and realised belatedly that he hadn’t yet given the instruction for the false cord to stop vibrating. 

He turned it down slowly, cycling through the functions, and tasting the echoes of his partner’s pleasure in the little surges of his energy field. 

By the time Optimus stood again, his spike was back inside its housing and he looked as decorous as ever. He clearly didn’t feel decorous, though, as he shook his head to the unspoken query about removing the false cord, and sent a parcel of sensation showing exactly how much he was enjoying the fullness. 

They spent a while kissing against the shop wall, their energy fields still meshed and ringing with good humour. 

“Isn’t it wonderful,” Optimus said, “to just take time.”

“We’re being thoroughly spoilt,” Megatron said, glancing at the passers-by. 

“I hadn’t realised how much I needed this.” Optimus sighed happily. 

“Mmm, no truer words spoken.” The shop door opened, and Megatron watched as one of Euphoria’s symbionts wandered out, a bag dangling from her wrist. He smiled. “You know what I haven’t done in an age?”

Optimus’ optics twinkled. “I can think of at least two things,” he said, and Megatron tugged him closer again, letting his energy field flicker in little kisses over Optimus’ front. 

“Add them to the list?” he said with a smirk, and took Optimus by the hand. “Come,” he said. “I want to see what’s on the other side of the window.”

Getting inside the shop took a moment. Megatron had to work his way through a knot of tourists chatting in the doorway. “Excuse me,” he said, and there was a simple pleasure in the novelty of being treated like just another citizen. He edged his way past, one of the tourists apoligising in an absent way, not even really looking at him. 

Inside, the shop was busy but not crowded. He paused to take it in: the glass-topped jasper counter ranged with rank upon rank of individually decorated treats, the walls lined with shelves of multicoloured boxes, the cashiers chatting with their customers. 

“We’ll have to queue,” Optimus said, and there was wonder in his voice. They didn’t queue in the real world. They didn’t walk past disinterested bystanders into shops and have to wait for service. They didn’t walk around by themselves, taking their time to look at the products. In the real world there were reception committees and security teams and gift boxes, and Megatron could never have gently elbowed his way to the counter, tugging Optimus after him, to marvel at the confections. And they never ever would have been permitted to give money for the things they wanted. 

“Hungry?” Megatron queried, and Optimus leaned against him, looking over his shoulder at a display of gilded oil cake.

“I am now,” he said. “This is my treat, what can I get you?”

Megatron gave the goods some consideration, and grinned. “The Vosian, I think.”

Optimus laughed, and waited patiently to catch the attention of the cashier. “I remember the first time you tried oil cake,” he said. “The look on your face…”

“There weren’t things like that in Kaon in those days,” Megatron said. “What about the first time you ate a rusk stick?”

Optimus laughed. “And Prowl tried to convince me to throw it up again? He thought you were such a bad influence.” He lay a hand on Megatron’s waist, but it wasn’t long before it began to journey downwards. 

Megatron gave a subtle sway of his hips, and leaned on the counter. “Remember when he called in a favour with the chief of police because he thought I’d kidnapped you?”

“I will never ever forget that day,” Optimus said with a wry smile, “much as I occasionally make the effort.” 

Snickering, Megatron watched as the cashier finally got around to Optimus. It was so calming to wait in line, so novel not to be in a hurry. He grinned as Optimus squeezed his aft, and leaned over to caress the back of his neck as he made the purchase. 

They laughed their way out of the confectioners, and Megatron didn’t know when he’d last felt so light and free. Not when he was young, that was for sure. Perhaps in the early days of his relationship with Optimus, when they lay all night awake in each others’ arms, just talking. 

But this was different. This was the leisure time he’d never had, so joyful and carefree. The leisure time their rule had bought for many of their citizens - the freedom they were trying to arrange for all. 

“We need some energon,” Megatron said, tugging Optimus into a perfect facsimile of Crystal Distilled, Iacon’s premier supplier of fine fuels. “It’s my turn to treat you.” And it was Euphoria’s turn, again, to treat them both. Her symbiont made as much of a fuss of them as the real staff at Crystal’s would for any regular customer. There was no line for payment, but the very act of paying was something Megatron hadn’t needed to do for himself in vorns. At least not in person; all his personal transactions were made online. 

He paid cash, taking several bottles of different flavours of high grade, a selection of glasses and an insulated bag to carry them. As they left the shop Optimus wound his hand around Megatron’s where he carried the bag, and clicked the token in the handle, mixing the chemicals in the bag’s lining and making it instantly cooler. 

“I always liked that bit,” he said, keeping his hand where it was. 

“It’s the simple things,” Megatron commented with a smile, and led them around a group of fliers deep in conversation. “Where do you want to go?”

“Hmm…” Optimus squeezed his hand. “How about the Gardens? I haven’t been there in aeons.”

They drew to a halt as Megatron kissed him. “The Gardens it is.” 

When they set off again, it was in the opposite direction, and it wasn’t a short walk. It would have been, had they rushed, but Optimus wanted to look in all the shops, and Megatron wanted to watch him looking in the shops, and every so often one or the other’s attention was taken by something small and everyday they never would have had time to consider in their regular lives. And every so often Optimus would discreetly flare his energy field, and smirk to let Megatron know that he was very much conscious of the toy still seated behind his panel.

The afternoon was fading by the time they reached Ambus Park Gardens, the lights of Iacon shifting from day towards night. Star-filled, the sky slowly cleared of air traffic, the air crystal clear. The gates were open, the ancient toll booth sporting a sign recording the law they had passed to make all publicly owned parks free of access. 

“I’d forgotten we did that,” Megatron said, gesturing to the sign with an arm full of bags. 

Optimus smiled. “I’m sure there’s a lot we’ve both forgotten.” They passed a line of crystalline bushes and ambled into an avenue of taller tree-like structures, curated to appear organic. A Turbo-fox darted across their path, and a swarm of miniature caretaker drones passed by overhead. “Where shall we sit?”

“High Ridge,” Megatron said. “The stars always looked the best from there.”

“And we could always hear the approach of local law enforcement when it was time to leave,” Optimus said with a mischievous glint in his optics. 

“You were a hellion in your youth,” Megatron commented. “Utterly wild.”

“You led me astray,” Optimus said, unable to keep a straight face as Megatron sent him a clip of memory, a young Orion shushing him and showing him where the fence was weakest and the security cameras could not see; Orion leading him through the darkened park to the crest of the ridge where they fell into each other’s arms.

Optimus countered with a clip of Megatron pulling him into an empty office in the Senate building, the lights dim, wedging a chair against the door and perching enticingly on the edge of a table. 

“You can’t say we didn’t make the most of what spare time we had,” Megatron said. “Race you to the top?” He took off at a sprint before Optimus could reply, barely hearing the laughter behind him. 

Too late Megatron realised he probably shouldn’t be shaking the energon, but it didn’t matter. They could leave it to settle, and besides, it was as novel to run for the sheer joy of feeling his frame move as it was to wait in line or be completely ignored by a crowd. 

He reached their old spot a few seconds before Optimus, and sprawled on the soft ground. The floor was a mossy carpet of foam, cool and slightly bouncy. He pushed the shopping to arm’s length, in case the energon did decide to ignite, and oofed as Optimus landed on top of him. 

“That,” the Prime said, “was an unfair advantage.”

Megatron grinned up at him. “ _You_ have an advantage over me every day of every orn.” He ran his hands over his partner’s thighs. “I can’t resist you.”

Optimus leaned down to kiss him. “I wouldn’t want you to try.”

A warm breeze stirred the fragrant air, and Megatron sank into the kiss. The ground had been harder here, in their youth, the sky dimmer. Smoke had clouded the stars, but the sounds of the city had been just as muted, the imagined bubble of their own company just as intimate. 

Now the spongy foam supported his joints, the ground as welcoming with Optimus’ weight on top of him as the mattress of their recharge pad in the suite Euphoria had created just for them. 

They kissed deep and long, under the glimmer of stars in the glass-clear sky. It was easy to imagine them back in the real Iacon, in the real Ambus Park Gardens with the warden constantly on the watch for them, and the sound of Orion’s laugher light in his audials as they talked and kissed and interfaced the night through. 

Optimus caught the flavour of his reminiscence in the pattern of their bond, and added his own thoughtful observations in snatches of memory and hints of thought. They had been difficult times, but they’d found good things where they could. They had strived and fought for reconciliation, for peace, for love. They had given themselves to heal Cybertron, and by some miracle of Primus it had worked.

“And this is our reward,” Megatron whispered, the sentiment embedded in his energy field showing that he thought it was entirely worth it.

“We have earnt it,” Optimus said, tingling his energy field directly over Megatron’s spark. 

Grinning, Megatron rolled them over, straddling Optimus’ delightful narrow hips and letting his chest slowly part. Purple light spilled over the reds and blues of Optimus’ broad chest. At a minute buck of the Prime’s hips, Megatron turned up the vibrations of the false spike, and lay his palms on Optimus’ chest, sighing at the indulgent smile on his partner’s lips. 

“My Prime,” Megatron whispered, as Optimus’ chest began to part, letting loose a dazzling illumination. He traced the edges of the moving armour, no less in love with the sight than he had been all those aeons ago when the newly-forged Prime had first opened up to him. 

The Matrix shone, brighter than the Prime’s own spark, brighter than all the lights of Iacon. It nestled snug and secure in a hollow below the pure blue light of Optimus’ spark, joyfully prismatic, and emitting a sonic frequency all of its own. After a moment it faded, letting the Prime’s sparklight seem to grow in comparison, and when Megatron bent to kiss the casing of his partner’s spark, the Matrix hummed softly in apparent approval. 

Optimus sighed and ran his hands over Megatron’s waist and hips, over the crest of Megatron’s helm as the kisses grew more fervent and the corona of his spark began to expand. 

Megatron ground against him, the corona licking out to his tongue, giving little spark-kisses of its own. They tickled and stung, and he continued until the sting outshone the tickle, and the Prime’s vents were heaving beneath him. With a final caress of the most sensitive inner casing of his spark, Optimus’ spike cover fell away. Megatron grinned, his own cover already retracted, and sank down onto the perfect hardness of his partner’s cord. 

He paused to enjoy the moment: the happy promise in Optimus’ grin, the thrilling fullness, and the yearning pull of his partner’s spark upon his own, like the turning of a vast tide. 

His own corona was splitting, fiery tendrils reaching, flaming like the surface of a star. The Matrix glimmered, still enigmatic after all this time, still the keeper of its own indefinable secrets. 

Still their ally and confidant, their silent third. It reached a thread of its own light into their mix, as Megatron closed the distance between their sparks, and Optimus held onto his hips and rocked gently into him. 

Their cores came together; their optics met. The bond unfurled, its facets spiralling open, revealing everything all at once in a flood of data too fast to catch any one specific thing. It was like overloading without climax, as intense as their first ever interface, as consuming as the consummation of their vows. 

All were one in the mesh of sparks. All was peace and love and a deep mutual knowledge, and the confidence that this could only grow. 

When climax did come it was as mutual as the bond, as beautiful as the twining glimmer of the light from the Matrix. 

Optimus continued to rock into him, and Megatron squeezed him tight, and smiled and did not break his gaze. Their sparks disentangled, their cores settling back. The Matrix glowed white hot a moment, a light that was also an embrace, as tactile as their armour or the springy ground beneath them. 

They didn’t bother to close their chests. Megatron lay forward, resting his chin on his arm, and traced patterns on the casing of Optimus’ spark. “Happy anniversary,” he said. 

“Here’s to many many more,” Optimus replied, his cord brushing against Megatron’s overtaxed ceiling node. “Look up,” he said. 

“Mmmm, up?” Megatron did, and his grin widened. The false sky was ablaze, the stars dancing through a veil of purple-blue auroras, exploding in a shower of multicoloured fireworks. He saw the glyphs of fortune and happiness, of hope and gratitude, all spelled out in glittering sprays of light. 

He leaned back so as to see the better, Optimus’ cord pressing against the front of his valve, making him want to spin the Prime on top of him and urge him to something faster and rougher. But he continued to watch as Euphoria spelled out her message to them, his spark warm in his chest, his conjunx smiling beneath him. 

“We should do this twice a vorn,” Megatron said, as Optimus began to move within him, and the bond shared his intentions. “Every quartex. Mmmmm, all of this…”

“Definitely all of it,” Optimus said. He flared his spark, so alive with joy and fresh arousal. “Happy anniversary, my love.”

Megatron gasped, his engine purring. “More than happy,” he said, and leaned forward again to claim his partner’s lips.


End file.
